Cut
by FallIntoTheGrey
Summary: After Davy Jones kills Will, Elizabeth's grief consumes her and threatens to destroy her. Will Jack be able to save her? Inspired by the song "Cut" by Plumb.


_**Hello. This is the second Pirates story that I've posted, but the first one that I wrote. This story has become my baby over the years and I've been hesitant to post it. I know it's not perfect, but I wouldn't want it to be. I wrote this story when I was in a really rough place, and writing it was sort of cathartic. **_

**_But enough of my story and onto the logistics. This story is inspired by the song "Cut" by Plumb, so I would suggest listening it to get the full experience. In this story, Will died after he was stabbed by Davy Jones and before Jack could help him stab the heart. This is the story of the aftermath. _**

**_WARNING: As the title suggests, this story is about cutting and there are significant references to blood. If that bothers you, I suggest that you do not read this story. _**

**_Please, read and review. I always appreciate constructive criticism. _**

**_Thanks._**

**_Grey_**

* * *

_**I'm not a stranger**_

_**No, I am yours**_

The candles flickered, casting an eerie glow over the small cabin. Their light came from the various nooks they had been forced into, their wax dripping onto the wooden boards of the walls and floor, forming intricate patterns there. The cabin was sparsely decorated: a small bed, a wardrobe, a small desk with a hanging light over it that added to the flickering glow, wax smearing the handwriting on the maps below. A full-length mirror sat ignored in one corner of the room near the large window. A sheet of deepest ruby covered it, hiding its judging face from the world. The window next to it tried to chase away some of the darkness gripping the little room, but a tattered piece of black cloth proved its efforts to be in vain. Instead, darkness and death hovered over the room.

A rustling from the bed offered the only indication of life. However, as the woman rose, it was evident that only a small amount of life remained. Her sallow skin pulled tightly over her bones, the veins deep blue beneath their fragile defense. Her hair hung limply about her shoulders, a greasy mass of dull brown weighing down her head. The eyes that looked out from their prison were the eyes of a ghost, their usual spark and vitality lost. She lacked all of the life she had previously possessed, the fiery passion that had united the worst of enemies, the stubbornness that had driven an army forward, the audacity used to command her forces and ignore the fact that she was the Governor's daughter on a pirate ship.

_Pirate King indeed. _

Her feet soundlessly carried her to the wardrobe, her robe hanging on her emaciated frame. She hesitated at the mirror before continuing to the wardrobe, retrieving her uniform of a loose shirt and breeches. She dazedly walked to the desk, not knowing exactly what she was doing. Plopping her clothes down, she slumped into the chair, her breathing labored, as if the simple act of living was too much for her to bear. As if life could be simple.

_**With crippled anger **_

The shirt had come unfolded, the white linen covering the dagger sleeping on the desk. Pushing the shirt back, she picked up the dagger, its face winking at her in the flickering light. Dried blood crusted at the tip, the metal reflected her face, giving her the only image of herself she had seen in weeks. Pressure built in her chest as she twisted the dagger in her hands, getting brief glimpses of her face before losing herself again. She bit down on her lip, the salty taste of blood filling her mouth, as the pressure continued to mount and the dagger continued to flash in the light. Each flash that assailed her eyes dragged her back into her memories. Lightning flashed around her and the ship bucked under her. She felt the searing pain in her head as she was thrown back, heard that relentless taunting, smelt her terror, heard his cry of agony, felt his body shutter against hers as he let out his final breath, watched the light leave his eyes. As the world fell in around Elizabeth, she barely saw Bootstrap take the heart of Davey Jones from Jack, malice darkening his face as the dagger sank into the thumping organ. She closed in around herself as Will was carefully sewn up in the sail and committed to the sea. Sitting in Jack's cabin, the dagger felt as heavy in her hand as it had when his father gave it back to her.

_**And tears that still drip sore**_

A gruff voice at her door yanked her mercilessly back into reality.

"Lizabeth, love," he called. It was Jack, again. She absentmindedly played with the dagger as he talked at her, again. It wasn't until she felt the growing wetness on her thigh that she realized the dagger was digging into her wrist. Crimson blood spilled out of the wound and trickled off her arm onto her lap, a growing pool of blood resting there. She watched in wonder as the blood gushed out with each beat of her heart and the drops made their path over her arm onto her lap.

A fierce pounding at the door drew her out of her stupor.

"Elizabeth, either you'll be comin' out here or I am comin' in there," Jack barked, worry deepening his voice. He had watched her fall head first down her slippery slope and he had no idea how to help her. This wasn't something he could fix with a pistol, a cutlass, or a bottle of rum. He had watched as she holed herself up in his quarters, the remnants of the Pearl's sails acting as her shield. He had gladly given up his quarters to her, but now he was wondering if that had been the best idea. He had given her the only place of complete solitude on the ship and she had taken full advantage of that privacy. She stayed in there day and night, rarely eating the food he or Gibbs left outside the door for her. He hardly saw her, but what he had seen, he did not like. She was killing herself and that devastated him. For the first time in his life, he felt entirely helpless. She was slipping away. And he couldn't stop her.

Elizabeth's senses heightened at Jack's demand. He hadn't tried to force her out of her solitude in all the weeks she had been on board and she was grateful for that. His demand shocked her.

"I'm not decent," she tried to call, her voice hoarse and weak from disuse.

"Well, unless you want me to come in there and put clothes on you myself, I would get some clothes on and come out here. You need some sun," he yelled firmly.

She sat there unmoving for a moment, waiting for the sound of his heavy footsteps retreating. When it never came, she knew he was serious. Ripping a small edge off of her robe, she wrapped the wound on her wrist firmly, blood quickly coloring it. She hastily pulled on her clothes and took hesitant steps toward the door. The world lay in front of her, but she didn't want to join it again.

_**A fragile frame aged**_

The sunlight burned her eyes as the door swung open, tears pooling to try and fight the attack. The brightness clouded her vision as she stumbled forward. A heavy silence fell as the crew turned to look at her, disregarding whatever jobs they were supposed to be doing. Her shoulders slumped under the weight of their stares, she moved forward, not sure where she was going, not sure what she was doing, not sure who she was.

_**With misery**_

Jack stood glued to the spot near the cabin, his face displaying a severe level of shock. It was even worse than he had thought. He watched in dismay as she moved toward the railing, her clothes hanging off of her body, her face that of a haggard old woman, not the lively young woman she was. Had been.

Shaking out of his stupor, he followed behind, hoping he could relieve some of her pain and not make it worse. He leaned on the rail beside her. Her eyes looked out over the horizon; his eyes studied hers. She glanced over at him and he turned away, embarrassed at having been caught.

_**And when our eyes meet**_

"You know, darling," he began, clearing his throat, "just because you're on a pirate ship doesn't mean you should dismiss all forms of personal hygiene. You're givin' the men bad ideas."

"What do you want?" she said coldly, her eyes not leaving the sea.

He stood aghast at her question, his mouth hanging slightly open. Where was the Elizabeth who would have come back at him with some witty remark? He turned his head away from her, unable to look upon her decrepit form.

"I jus' though you could use some fresh air. Not healthy to hole yourself up like you have."

"Why do you care?" she questioned, her dead eyes looking into his kohl-lined ones, daring him to answer.

He didn't. Instead, he pushed himself off of the railing, starting to walk away. He murmured back over his shoulder, "We'll be nearin' Port Royal tomorrow. You can get off there."

_**I know you see**_

She slumped back as he strode off, his head held proudly. She knew that now was not the time to be alienating the last person she had, but she couldn't help it. She was miserable and she wanted everyone around her to feel as she did. She walked back to the cabin, the cut on her wrist stinging slightly. She looked down to find blood soaking into her sleeve, the white linen quickly turning red. Her hand on the door handle, she glanced once more at Jack, his back turned to her, before pushing the door open, leaving a small red stain on the gold handle. She shut the door soundlessly, plunging deep into her seclusion once more.

_**I do not want to be afraid**_

_**I do not want to die inside just to breath in**_

_**I'm tired of feeling so numb **_

_**Relief exists **_

_**I find it when**_

_**I am cut**_

Jack stood still on the upper deck, his arm resting haphazardly on the wheel. He had stood there since Elizabeth had returned to his cabin many hours ago. Looking out at the setting sun, the clouds dipped in the brightest red, her dead words haunted him. How could she question his affection for her? He was the only person she had left; that was why he cared for her. Because of Beckett, she had lost everyone, except him. He was the one who rescued her from Davy Jones right before he would have skewered her like he had her beloved William. He was the one who let her stay on the Pearl, given her his quarters, tried to feed her, tried to keep her grief from consuming her. Glancing at his blacked out cabin, he knew he had been doing a right fine job of that. Her grief wasn't just consuming her; it was destroying her, ripping her piece by piece from the world.

_**I may seem crazy**_

Why the hell should he care? he thought selfishly as he turned his eyes back to the clouds. The way they guiltily drifted back gave him his answer. He felt responsible. For Will, for her, for everything. None of it would have happened if he hadn't crossed Davey Jones. None of it would have happened if he hadn't tried to take the easy way out. None of it would have happened if he hadn't come to Port Royal that day years ago and rescued the bloody girl when she fell.

A flutter from the cabin caught his eye and he let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. She was still there. He hadn't pushed her further away. She hadn't destroyed herself. Yet.

_**Painfully shy**_

He determinedly strode down the stairs, only hesitating when his hand reached for the door handle. His pride just wouldn't let him apologize.

While a battle waged between his mind and his conscience, he thought back to the conversation he had had on that very deck with the girl, right before she condemned him to the Locker.

'_I always knew you were a good man.'_

Bugger, the girl's right, he chuckled darkly, before suppressing his ego and pushing the door open, not noticing the small tattoo her blood left on his hand.

He shook his head slightly as he took in the room before him, hoping to God or the gods or whomever that it was a dream. A dank, moldy smell assailed his nostrils as the room fully came into view. Hundreds of candles were lit all around, their smoke adding to the smell. Soiled clothing was strewn about the cabin, as well as bits of paper with little musings and drawings on them, the makings of madness. His maps had been pushed to a corner of the table, leaving an empty expanse with a dagger gouged into the center of it. The chair had been pulled over to the mirror and there the girl sat. The sheet still covered the reflective glass, and she sat there staring at it, as if contemplating revealing her ghostly reflection to herself. The sleeve of her shirt was ripped back, revealing a wicked cut. Blood still trickled out of it, dripping carelessly onto her leg. She did not notice Jack's presence, her eyes not leaving the mirror.

_**And these scars wouldn't be so hidden**_

He stood there dumbfounded, until she finally sensed his presence.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked, not turning to look at him. There was no threat in her voice, no anger. They were just words.

"I wanted to apol'gize to you for what I said, about you gettin' off a the ship. You're welcome to stay," he said timidly, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Silence pressed in around them as Jack searched for something to fight it off with. "That's a nasty cut you got there," he finally said, even though that was a subject he hadn't really wanted to delve into. "How'd you get it?"

She hesitated, the breath catching in her chest, before answering, "The dagger slipped."

"Well, let me bandage it before it gets infected," he said as he moved cautiously over to her. Ripping a large chunk off of his shirt, he gently took her hand in his. He tried to ignore the contrast of her unearthly pale skin against his sun-baked leather as he tightly bound the cut. He focused intently on his work, unable to look her in the eye or examine the cut. He wanted so desperately to believe she was telling the truth, that the dagger had indeed slipped, but that little logical voice in the back of his mind was screaming the truth at him, the truth he didn't want to hear. The cut was too deep to have been an accident.

No! he told himself firmly, she did not do this to herself. She's smarter than that.

Unable to face the fact that she was falling apart and he was doing nothing about it, he quickly tied off the cloth, set her hand back in her lap, and left. His words, for once, would not come.

_**If you would just look me in the eye**_

Elizabeth could not help the suffocating pain that overtook her as he walked out with no word. She wanted, no, she needed him to see her, to save her from what she was becoming. But he did nothing. He walked away and left her in her misery.

_**I feel alone here and cold here**_

_**No, I don't want to die**_

She walked slowly to the desk, taking the dagger in her hand again, its handle becoming too comfortable there. Pushing back her sleeve, she looked down at the expanse of white skin in front of her.

_**But the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills inside**_

The dagger bit down sharply on the skin, blood trailing in its path. The pain took her breath away, but she welcomed it. It numbed the pain in her heart.

_**I do not want to be afraid**_

_**I do not want to die inside just to breath in**_

_**I'm tired for feeling so numb**_

_**Relief exists **_

_**I find it when**_

_**I am cut**_

Night fell quickly on the ship, as the crew finished their duties and their bottles of rum and drifted to their beds, wherever they were on the ship. Gibbs diffused the lights before turning to find his own. As he did, he nearly knocked Jack off of his perch on a barrel pushed up against the wall of Elizabeth's cabin.

"Mother and child!" he exclaimed, his hand raised to his chest in shock. "Jack, what are ye doing?" he hissed, his eyes shifting worriedly to the window.

"Just protecting what needs protectin', mate," he answered lazily as he slumped back against the wall.

"But Jack, it not be yer place to be protectin' her."

"Who else is there?"

The firmness of Jack's words stopped Gibbs. Nodding curtly, he walked off, muttering under his breath. Jack tilted his head back, letting the waves lull him into a stupor.

_**I am not alone **_

Inside, Elizabeth stood in front of the covered mirror. She looked at the scarlet sheet, her hand halfway reached out, contemplating pulling it off. Finally, she clutched the fabric in her fist and with one swift tug, the sheet fell.

And in the mirror, there was a ghost.

Elizabeth stood in bewilderment at the woman before her. Was that really what she had become?

In a state of disbelief, she started to remove her clothes. She needed to see herself; to be sure she was still there. Her shaking hands slowly undid the buttons on her shirt and pulled it off, throwing it back on the bed. They did the same with her breeches.

In her nakedness, Elizabeth saw that she was, indeed, the ghost in the mirror. Her fingers flitted across her body, revealing all of the damage done. They jumped over the ribs that stuck out like mountains with deep chasms in between. They passed over the stomach sucked back toward the spine, the breasts barely in existence. They played in the hollows around her collar bone and raced over her jutting hip bones, struggling to come over the great summits they posed. Silent tears fell freely as her hands continued their exploration of this fragile, unknown body. She was becoming nothing. She had lost Will, and now, she was losing herself.

Seeing the dagger in the mirror, she quickly grabbed it. She watched the hand holding it in the mirror as her fingers unconsciously flipped it over and over.

Looking once more at her face, the tears came faster and stronger. She was no longer beautiful. She could never be beautiful without him. She was going to make sure of that.

Grabbing a large chunk of hair and pulling it away from her scalp, she fiercely tugged the dagger through it, the severed locks littering the ground. The remaining hair stood in little uneven tufts as she continued around her head, paying caution no thought. The blade bit savagely into her scalp, drenching her shortened hair with blood as she let out a shriek of pain. But the pain did not stop her.

It did, however, alert Jack. He bolted upright at the sound, fear quickening his pulse as he jumped off of the barrel and rushed to the door. Suddenly, he hesitated, right as he was about to barge in. He waited, waited to hear if she called for him, if she cried again.

Staring at her newly cut hair, Elizabeth's desire for ugliness was not quenched. Looking at the two cuts on her wrist and remembering the sweet ecstasy of release they had given her, she neared the dagger to more of her pale skin, before dragging it down. New tears sprung to her eyes at the pain, but she ignored them. She was in her own black euphoria.

The dagger continued its dance across her body, decorating it with scarlet paint, adding new strokes here and there, on her legs, her chest, her arms. She plunged it into a series of small cuts on her thighs, the blood from all the wounds running into one stream that cascaded down her legs. The blade ravaged the valleys between her ribs, creating the streams at the bottoms of the canyons. The cuts covered all of her body, except her face and the spot right above her heart. For some reason, she could not defile her face. She wanted to be able to cover her scars, to hide her pain from the world. It was her burden to bear and hers alone. That was what Will would have expected.

Looking into the mirror, Elizabeth's tears were tears of dark joy. She rejoiced in the destroyed flesh, in the blood that rolled off of her body in small waves. She rejoiced in the heady smell of rust and salt that wafted up around her. She rejoiced because now her body was as ugly as her soul. All except for that one patch of pristine skin above her heart. She had a special plan for it.

The blood on the dagger shined in the flickering candlelight as she raised it with a shaking hand and placed it on the small expanse of pure skin. A bead of crimson liquid swelled around the tip as the pressure increased. Heavy sobs wracked her body now, as she carefully, precisely, carved the skin. With each slice, the scream grew in her throat, clawing to be released, to come into existence, to tell the world of her anguish. With the final cut, it erupted, her body staggering at its sheer ferocity. It ripped at her vocal chords, and in its fury, it pulled the pain, the anguish, the agony clear out of her body into a dark orb hovering in the air above her. But it would not go away. As she listened to her lungs' plead for oxygen, back in it fell, pulled in with the air, death returning into her as life did. And she plunged back into her deep abyss.

The demonic noise coming from his cabin sent Jack flying straight from his perch, nearly falling to the deck at the impact. Bewildered, he questioned momentarily if it was Calypso, back to take her revenge. Gathering his senses, he realized with growing dread that it was not Calypso. Calypso he could handle. What lie behind that door, he wasn't so sure about.

The pounding of footsteps foretold the coming of Gibbs as he dashed out, trying to chase sleep from his eyes.

"What be that shriekin' of a banshee?" he questioned as Jack moved toward the door.

Looking his first mate in the eye, Jack asked gravely, "Who else is there to be protectin' her?" before turning to the door. Taking the handle in his hand, he prayed she hadn't done what he thought she'd done.

Locked.

His shoulders slumped at the rejection.

"Elizabeth!" he cried through the wood, pounding his fist on it. "Open the door, Elizabeth!"

"Leave, Jack," she weakly replied through her tears. "Just leave me alone."

"I can't be doing that, love. William would never forgive me."

The anguished sob that met his comment told him of his poor choice. He pressed his ear to the door, wishing to hear something, anything, that told him she was still alive.

Hearing nothing, he pounded on the door again, his knuckles bloodying. "Elizabeth!" he screamed. "Elizabeth, say something!"

"Go, Jack. Just let me go."

Those small, helpless words made the hair on the back of Jack's neck stand up in terror. He yelled in outrage and fear as he rammed his shoulder into the door. He continuously pushed, cursing the thick wood and that bloody lock.

"Don't just stand there," he bellowed at Gibbs, horror flashing in his eyes. "Help me!"

Gibbs stood in shock, watching his captain try to claw desperately into the room, into the woman he loved, into the woman whose pain he felt responsible for.

_**I am not alone**_

In his desperation and exasperation at Gibbs' inaction, Jack pulled the pistol out of his belt. The deafening sound of metal clashing with metal rang around them as the door swung open, revealing the carnage.

The pistol clattered to the floor as Jack rushed forward, trying to stop the struggling woman in front of him. His feet felt like lead as he watched her press the dagger to the pulsing point of her throat. Blood trickled around the blade, coursing off in tiny rivulets down her neck, her chest, her breast, before dropping to the ground.

_**I'm not a stranger**_

He stared in bafflement at the creature before him as he moved toward her, the couple of yards seeming like miles. Elizabeth was no longer there. The bright eyed girl he had rescued from the sea was gone. The temptress who had tried, and succeeded, at seducing him to his death was gone. The fiery, stubborn Pirate King whom he had placed his trust in was gone. The woman he had known and admired and been fascinated by and grown to love was no more. In her place was this broken, cracked porcelain doll, with glassy, vacant eyes and no desire for life standing before him, ready to shatter at any moment.

_**No, I am yours**_

Just before she made her final cut, he came up behind her, grabbing her wrists and pulling her back into him.

"No," she cried softly, as he wrested the dagger from her hand, its blood-soaked form falling to the ground.

_**With crippled anger**_

Her head dropped onto her chest as she relinquished control. Pulling all of her slight weight back onto him, he wrapped his arms around her painfully small waist and let them drift down to the floor. He pulled her into his lap like a small child and her head lulled against his chest. Small sobs continued to shake her body as her tears mixed with her blood and wetted his shirt. Rubbing small soothing circles into her back, he sank his head down onto her shoulder, her blood painting his cheek.

_**And tears that still drip sore**_

"It's alright now, love," he whispered, tickling her neck. "I'm here. It's going to be alright."

Her tears quieted as slumber and blood loss finally overtook her. Jack continued to cradle her like a babe, his chin resting lightly on top of her head, her tear-stained face tucked into the crook of his neck. Her blood stopped flowing as freely as the slighter gashes slowly started closing up, but one wound refused to stop. The wound above her heart. The letter she so carefully carved there. The letter that would haunt her for the rest of her days.

_W_

Jack sent Gibbs to fetch bandages, warm water, and a needle and thread for the deeper wounds. Some rum, too. She would need it when she woke. When he returned, Jack asked him to open the window, to let some fresh air and moonlight in to chase away some of the darkness.

_**But I do not want to be afraid**_

_**I do not want to die inside just to breath in**_

_**I'm tired of feeling so numb**_

_**Relief exists**_

_**I found it when**_

After he left, Jack reached for the dagger, careful not to disturb Elizabeth. Flipping it over a couple of times in his hand, he tossed it out the window. Leaning back against the bed, a look of relief crossed his face with the resounding splash.

_**I was cut. **_


End file.
